Specialist Tyr Bannik hosts a flashlight (for lack of candles) memorial and prayer service for those lost during Operation: Cobra Talon

Date:

24 June 2041 AE

Related Logs:

Any regarding Leonis and Operation: Cobra Talon

Players:

Deck 9 - Recreation - Battlestar Cerberus

The floorplating along the corridors of the Cerberus are standard military. Their forged steel plates are welded seamlessly together to run nearly the entire length of each hallway. The hallways themselves are the typical load-bearing structural design of the angled quadrilateral. Oxygen scrubbers and lighting recesses are found at nearly perfect intervals throughout the angled passageways.

Post-Holocaust Day: #118

The area around the Memorial Wall has been transformed for the event — sort of. It is, like many things on Cerberus these days, jury-rigged. While two candles do sit on brazers on either side of the Wall, the 'candle light' for the event is instead flashlights handed out by a handy snipe or two. And there is a box expecting their return at the end with a not-so-subtle sign marking that fact. The lights, however, have been dimmed, making it a more mood sort of lighting, more appropriate to the occasion. Standing before the wall, facing the assembling group, is Tyr Bannik, wearing his new Specialist pins, smiling at each whose eye he can meet as they join the group. Folks here, by the way, are expected to stand — such is the trouble of having it in a hallway rather than the chapel.

Quinn steps quietly onto the deck and, for the first time in ages, she actually can be quiet. No crutches, just a heavy brace tight around her right leg and knee. Otherwise, the crutch is off and she's taking it slow but surely through the hallways. She's in her dress blues, red hair tightly braided from her first full, long shower since her leg's been broken. So, so much better than sponge baths. She's silent as she steps to the side, making room for more people.

Sofia seems a bit hesitant, but smiles a bit sadly seeing Bannik and the memorial. She takes a deep breath and waves to Bannik quietly. She seems determined to find a spot and pauses, noticing his new pins. Her expression brightens briefly, but she says nothing for now, settling into a spot nearby.

Cidra strides up the stairs and into the corridor. She's in her off-duties, but she carries herself with a certain air of formality nonetheless. Her cult tattoos prominently displayed. Well, the wings that cover her right shoulder and olive branch on her right arm, at least. Her left arm is bound up in a sling. She gets herself a flashlight and drifts over to stand next to Quinn, acknowledging the redhead with a small dip of her chin.

Long since present, stationed against the wall opposite the memorial, is Psyche, her signature goldilocks hair shorn to her jawline — and it is, for her at least, a most eloquent sign of mourning. She fumbles a little awkwardly with her flashlight, uncertain where to point it — down (no), up (hmm), at the memorial (tacky)… frak. Sigh heaves a sigh and shifts her weight, finally holding the flashlight like the candle it's standing in for, light catching her under the chin.

Anyone who somewhat knows Trask knows that he's not at all the religious sort. Even so, he's actually present for the service, because part of being a good Squadron Leader (even if you don't /want/ to be a Squadron Leader) means offering moral support. And since anyone who somewhat knows Trask knows that he's not at all the religious sort, it would be evident that he's taking his new, albeit unwanted, leadership role seriously. He remains quiet, and off to one side, enough to make his presence known to his peeps who are present.

Bannik takes a deep breath once he sees his initial crowd is before him. He begins. He's dressed in no more than his duty greens, not the robes or vestments of a cleric. But when he speaks, it's with a certain confidence more than the Specialist usually has about him. "Lords of Kobol," he intones, raising his voice to be heard in the hall. "Coming together as Your family, we are mindful of the words of the Sacred Scrolls: That You will lift those that lift each other. And so let our ministry to each other today not just be a reflection of Your concern for us, but also part of our ministry to You. As Daedalus' creation lifted his son towards Your heavens - failing only when he lost sight of You — let us lift each other from despair and hopelessness in remembering the lives of our fallen friends."

Sawyer stands near the side, palm smacking into the side of her flickering flashlight as she tries to get a true beam out of it. A snipe finally spying her plight and switches the torch out with a functioning one. She gives him a grateful smile, then shifts a folder out from beneath her arm and threads through the growing mass of people, aimed straight dab for the CAG. "Major Hahn…" Sawyer then drops her voice lower as Bannik starts, muttering something then holding the folder towards Cidra, meaning for her to take it.

Tisiphone is a silent presence near the edge of the group. Duty blues and no flashlight, she stands with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She seems tense more than solemn, her mouth primmed in a straight line as she listens.

Cidra senses: Sawyer holds a folder out in Cidra's direction. "I was looking through my photos and I found this one of Lasher in berthings. It's a candid shot, but he's smiling and I thought…it would be some how fitting if you put it up on the wall."

Sofia smiles a little at those she recognizes. It's a Cidra! She seems pleased to see the gathering, although her flashlight is steady and low. She goes quiet to listen to Bannik begin. Wide green eyes are intently on the Specialist. She's in her on-duty outfit, green as usual. She's a quiet, content presence, looking thoughtful.

Quinn remains off to the side, though unless Trask slips further away, she moves a bit closer to him. She keeps her eyes tilted downwards, silent in prayer, remembering and praying for those lost…

Psyche takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and swallows. It's obvious she's already fighting tears. She hunches her shoulders for a moment, tucking her chin down and taking a deep breath. She bites her lips, resolute. Not. Gonna. Cry.

As much as Trask would like to slip all the way away, he remains put, head slightly bowed and brow furrowed contemplatively. Something's being mulled over. What, exactly, is left to the imagination.

Bannik folds his hands together, attempting to now make eye contact with each and every one of the folks here in turn, his eyes having a certain spark to them behind his glasses. "We've lost so many friends. So. Many. Friends." He emphasizes each word. "With the loss of so many billions, we might ask ourselves: What is the point of remembering these few? What are they now but a number, lumped into the mass suffering of all humanity?" It's clearly a rhetorical question. "We remember them because each and every one of us in /unique/ and /unrepeatable/." He makes eye contact with Tisiphone. "There will never be another Money Shot. Or Toast. Or Sawyer Averies." He turns on each one in turn. And then he pauses. "Or another Lasher. Or another Goddess. And so as the Gods know and call to each and every one of us by name, so too must we remember each of us by name and recognize that something special and unique has been taken from us. For if we do it any other way, then we have lost what makes us children of the Gods." He stops. "So here today we gather."

Cidra's brows arch a notch at mentioned of the Daedalus story. But she listens with all somber quiet and respect. Head turning when Sawyer comes up near her. "Miss Averies," she greets quietly. Surprised at first, as she takes the folder. But as she leans into listen to the whisper, and opens it, her expression warms a touch. And grows even more somber. "Thank you," she murmurs low, holding the flashlight and folder awkwardly in her good hand. And reaching out to put the arm around Sawyer in something resembling a half-hug. Head bowing as the names are mentioned, Lasher and Goddess in particular.

Sawyer accepts the hug as awkwardly as it was given from Cidra, a crooked little 'aw shucks' smile on her lips. It fades away when her own name is called out among the other, attention popping back to the here and now and the most inopportune moment when she's listed just before those that fell in the line of duty. Guilt. It's written all over her face as clear as if it had been penned in bright red ink.

Sofia looks quiet and thoughtful. She glances down past the wall. She particularly frowns at the names of Goddess and Lasher. Mostly Goddess. She keeps her flashlight down and looks to Sawyer and Cidra. Trying not to smile a little, glad to see them. Never another. Hm. there's a little shiver. Not something she'd like to contemplate.

Bannik takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "But no one came here today to hear me preach. We came to remember our dead, to place them upon this wall, where they shall remain so long as we remain. I'll now ask those who have memories to share of any of the dead to come forward, if you'd like, so that we may know them as you knew them. If you have a picture or other memento to pin on, all the better." He steps aside, to cede the floor to others.

The last of the Leonisian sunburn has faded from Tisiphone's face, leaving only her sun-bleached hair — which she still hasn't shaved away — as visible witness to her time on the planet. She meets Bannik's eyes as her callsign's mentioned, but it's a brief and uneasy look that edges away as she unfolds and refolds her arms. When speeches are mentioned, her eyes edge toward the corridor. Someone's considering an escape.

Evandreus is late. He looks pretty wiped, but that's more or less been his default expression since his return to the ship. It's like his sleep bucket has a hole in it, and he keeps shoveling sleep in only to find it emptying out again. He finds a cozy spot to lean up against the corridor wall, at the back of the crowd, plastering one side of his face against it as he gets a sense of the goings-on.

Sofia looks a little guilty. She rubs the back of her head. Sigh. Sometimes one has to take one for the team. Visibly nervous, Sofia creeps up to offer some words. "Well um. I remember that Goddess had a great sense of humor," And she happily omits the pants stealing update. "And Lasher - well, I didn't meet the pilots /too/ much before," Although she seems to be coming out of her shell in terms of not running and hiding in the presence of officers, "But he was kind to visit his pilots in the sick bay and I thought that was very kind of him. He seemed sad they were hurt and um - they were nice?" She offers. Sofia looks ready to bolt under the fridge from whence she came.

"Thanks, Sofia," smiles Bannik as the Crewman from M3 is the first to come up and speak. He touches her shoulder lightly, trying to be reassuring. She can bolt now. "Anyone else?"

When you've been in the military for some 15 years, you learn a few things. Things like being physically present but mentally sneaking off with no one being the wiser. Trask has mastered this ability, which really is best for all parties involved.

Sofia smiles at Bannik politely, though she does look a little guilty her speech wasn't more rousing. Darnit. Hindsight is always 20/20. She just nods and sneaks back into the audience.

Cidra's head lifts and she unwinds her arm from Sawyer, lighting her flashlight and stepping forward a notch. A small, sad smile is offered to Sofia. She lifts her chin but, when she speaks, it is not a speech proper that she makes. "But sail upon the wind of lamentation, my friends, and about your head row with your hands' rapid stroke in conveyance of the dead." Her oddly-drawling accent reverberates as she recites those words. They aren't, scripture, properly, but poetry. If of a decidedly spiritual bent. "That stroke which always causes the sacred slack-sailed, black-clothed ship of Charon to pass over Akheron to the unseen land here Apollo does not walk, the sunless land that receives all men."

A pause to clear her throat, and then her lips part again. This time, however, she does not speak at all. Rather, she starts singing. If it can even be called that. It's an undulating, chant-like sound, trilling out notes in a strange, slight off-beat rhythm in a language that is certainly not Colonial Standard. Old Gemenese, some might recognize it as. If they're in the know. She has a clear alto voice, and one obviously schooled in singing in this matter, and her eyes close she trails off the strange, yet clearly well-remembered words of it. The chant has a repetitive quality to it and goes on for about five minutes, finally fading into just softer notes and trailing away rather than properly ending.

Five minutes of singing? That's like an intermission. No offense intended towards Cidra's voice or sentiment, but Trask shifts a little with restlessness. Could be that he was hoping this ceremony wouldn't run long. It could also be a Pavlovian response wherein Intermission = Toilet Time and he now has a sudden urge to purge what's in his bladder. Brown eyes flick CAGwards, appraisingly, linger there for a verse, and then slowly drift once more downwards.

Sawyer glances to the others around her and finally steps forward after the CAG has said her piece and the song dies away. She seems a little uneasy as she stands in front of the crowd, as the majority of her voice is spread through print, not public speaking. When she starts to speak, though, she gains a little steam. "For Goddess and Lasher. Frankie and Ashwood. For Arkat. For so many of Doctor Barron's men I never even had the chance to learn their names. For all the souls we lost on that fateful day over one hundred days ago, and for all those we've lost since…thank you. I owe my life to each and everyone of them. And each and everyone of you. And when I see you again, on the Elysian fields, the first drink's on me."

Tisiphone's head turns a few degrees, eyes slanting sidelong toward Cidra as she speaks. She unfolds her arms slightly, rubbing the blade of her right palm against her wristcuff, then tucks them back in tightly across her chest. She returns to her role as silent sentinel as the CAG's song swells and dies away, Sawyer's words following after them pulling her shoulders into a tense frame for her blue coat.

Psyche is still staring at the CAG, and has been for some time, before she remembers that she has something to say. And then there's Sawyer's eloquent eulogy… Talk about your tough acts to follow. She swallows hard, eyes shifting over the people gathered in the hall before lowering to the mini-torch wrapped in her hands. "Uhm…" she whispers, then clears her throat. "Wow." Yeah. She rubs the back of her neck, closing her eyes a moment. "I… when I… was just a nugget… my first posting… was at Tau Garrison. Which… y'know… it's where they send the freaks and the frak ups. So where else are they going to send the girl who put varsity dance squad on her papers when she enlisted?" She smiles weakly, eyes already filling with tears. "I liked Lasher right away. Because… he never treated be differently than any other pilot. He expected the frakking world of me, and he was hard on me, and sometimes he was a real shithead… but… he made me…" And then the tears come, her voice breaking. "He made me expect the world of myself. The Warlocks knew it, and the Knights know it… he was never harder on us than himself. That would have been impossible. And…" she draws a shuddering breath. "And he taught me everything I know about triad. Which is just about nothing. But damn, could he bluff." She knuckles away the tears. "He was my squad leader. And I would have followed him anywhere."

And that seems to be all.

Quinn has been listening to the entire ceremony in silence. She doesn't step forward to speak, but already there are quiet, moist lines down her face. She stands there in respectful poise, despite the tears, not daring to say a word though her head often bows into prayers again and again..

When it seems as though no one else has anything to say, Bootstrap figures that now is as good a time as any to say what he intends to say. "To the guys in the gunboat and those lost with 3-0-5, I'll see to it that the Sister gives you a proper send-off." Very quietly, he clears his throat, for this emotional stuff is so not his thing. "And Major Bartholomew… thanks. Same offer extends to you, too." That's it, folks. Move along, now. Nothing else to see.

Sawyer has retreated to the side, and now she's just taken to looking at the memorial wall, with the pictures and tokens tacked to it like little pieces of everyone's heart on display.

When the last eulogy is done, Bannik steps forward once more. "Thank you, all, for your kind memories of our fallen." He then holds out his hands, palms up, the sort of thing that priests usually do. "Let us pray." He bows his head and closes his eyes.

Oooh, singing. Sofia smiles, not realizing Cidra had that talent. Her intense green eyes show appreciation, even if she can't understand the words directly. She seems to be gaining more and more appreciation for the woman these days. Poor Arkat. There's a sad look at that too. She listens to the eulogies and is a quietly appreciative audience.

Evandreus pushes shoulder against the wall, standing up straight and then tilting in the other direction, moving in a slow shuffle across to the other side of the corridor, hand fumbling numbly in pocket to draw out an old instant Stat-A-Shot photo, run through with a shiny red thumbtack procured from somewhere in the middle of a thick fuzzy crease that tells of the thing having been long folded. He doesn't say anything, just thumbs the tack into the memorial board material, the photo half of the photo facing the wall. The white back of the thing's been markered in black with the number fourteen. He keeps his thumb on the tack for the longest time, as if hesitating on the edge of taking it back down. But he doesn't, and, as Bannik's words, he just drops his hand uselessly to his side, staring at the thing, head bowed.

Pray? Yeah… that exceeds Trask's limit for religious foo. He put in the face time, made some suitable remarks, and is even being courteous enough to wait until the Harriers that are present are suitably distracted with their invocations before he quietly starts to slink away.

In a rather peculiar showing from Tisiphone, she too makes her stealthy departure as eyes close and heads bow in prayers for the departed. Light steps, not her usual scuffing footfalls, to ensure her exit is as unnoticed as possible. Across to the stairwell, and off to Points Beyond.

Sawyer bows her head respectfully, hands clasp in front of her. Whether or not she's actually doing any praying? Well. That's all up to interpretation.

"Lords of Kobol, hear our prayers." Bannik begins simply. "Let these unique, unrepeatable lives that we have remembered here today, if they are pleasing to You, be carried across the River Styx by Your Ferryman and to Your endless fields of Elysium. We commend them to your infinite power to judge and be merciful, and ask You not to look upon their sins, but upon the Faith of Your people. May we, those who remain, be comforted by the knowledge that these lives we entrust to Your safekeeping did not begin here nor will they end here, and that all that which we suffer today has happened before and that it shall all happen again." A beat. "So say we all."

Cidra's head bows respectfully, though she joins not in the oration. Save a last soft, "So say we all."

Psyche whispers, throat closed with grief, "So say we all."

Evandreus finally closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with the Number long enough for him to turn his head, looking down the corridor in the opposite direction as Bannik commends the dead to Elysium, then heading in that direction, himself. One foot in front of the other— the process seems to take all his focus for the time being.

Sofia is quiet, as the prayer goes on. She bows her head respectfully and offers a soft, "So say we all." She tries not to fidget - she really does.

Bannik glances up as the prayer ends, a small smile coming to his face. "Our service is ended. Let us go in the peace of the Lords to serve them and one another." He nods. "And. Uh. Remember to drop off the flash lights in the boxes on your way out. Engineering was really firm about that."

Quinn bows her head quietly, reaching over to drop off the flashlight before she begins her slow limp out the door again. At least it's not on crutches!

Sawyer mutters her own, quiet 'So Say We All' and as the crowd starts to disperse, so does Sawyer.

Cidra does go up to the Memorial Wall before she departs. Opening up the folder Sawyer gave her and removing a candid shot of Lasher. It's pinned into place.